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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371803">and for all these pantomimes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/Red'>Red (S_Hylor)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSapling/pseuds/SirSapling'>SirSapling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Tony, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Reunions, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Omega Steve, Omega Verse, Past Abuse, Past Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow - Freeform, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, past abusive relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:22:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/Red, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSapling/pseuds/SirSapling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knows that Steve being pregnant with another alpha’s baby should put him off. Most other alphas would have an issue with it, but if anything, it just makes Tony feel more protective of Steve. Even if Steve will never be his omega, Tony tells himself that just being around, being a part of Steve’s life, part of the baby’s life, will be enough.</p>
<p>It becomes hard to deny how he really feels though, when he spends a weekend at Steve's family reunion, pretending to fill the two roles he wants in life: Steve's alpha, and expectant father-to-be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>366</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bottom Steve Rogers Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi all, and welcome to Sap, Red and Tina's Bottom Steve Fest entry! </p>
<p>We entered this fest late, and naturally, we haven't caught up yet, but thankfully very lenient mods have extended the posting time, and here we are. </p>
<p>Sap and Red were very lucky to snag <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thirstinart">thirstinart</a> as our artist, and it has been wonderful to work together. Please go check out Tina's other art. </p>
<p>Big thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksnack/pseuds/starksnack">starksnack</a> for the cheer-reading and to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardingbeedle">bardingbeedle</a> for the beta reading. </p>
<p>Just a few warnings before we start, this fic does deal with a past abusive relationship, but it is largely glossed over, though there are a few mentions of injuries. However, the fact that Rumlow deliberately isolated Steve from his family is a huge factor in this story.<br/>There is also reference to Tony's less than stellar childhood.</p>
<p>Update schedule is every two weeks. Bonus chapter for this week though!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bell above the door jingles, indicating that someone has come into the front of the workshop; which can mean one of two things—either it’s Pepper returning from her lunch break early, or she forgot to lock the door and someone is ignoring the sign saying, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>back in half an hour’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and come into the shop anyway. Tony swears under his breath, dragging himself out from under the car he’s working on, dropping a socket wrench and two spanners back into the toolbox. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you, Pep?” he calls out, grabbing a nearby rag and wiping his hands with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, no,” replies an all too familiar voice. “She did give me her keys though, when I said I was bringing you lunch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to suppress the fluttery feeling in his stomach, Tony drops the rag on top of the vice near the door leading out of the garage and steps through into the front of the shop. Steve Rogers, his neighbour and long-time crush, stands on the other side of the counter, giving Tony a smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. There’s something pinched about his expression, and after knowing him for the better part of a year and learning that he has a truly abysmal poker face, Tony knows instantly that something is wrong.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, neighbour. What’s up?” he greets, smiling back at Steve, because he knows that the worst thing he could do is let on straight away that he knows something is wrong. It’s a surefire way of making Steve immediately clam up and avoid him for a week. He learnt the hard way from experience, not long after moving into the apartment next door to Steve, when he’d asked about the black eye Steve was sporting and didn’t believe him when he said he’d walked into a door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve holds up a calico bag, bulging with whatever is inside it, but impossible to see through. “I brought you lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squinting suspiciously, Tony moves closer to the counter. “What do you need this time, Rogers? You only ever give me food when you want something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dumping the bag on the counter, Steve scrunches his face up, like he’s going to argue, then kind of deflates, the fight going out of him before it even starts. “I’ve been on a cooking binge. I made more than I can eat, so I thought you might like some.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So no broken stoves? No washers that need replacing in your sink?” Tony asks, moving close enough that he can peer into the bag; there was a collection of containers in there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head, jutting out his chin in defiance; an action that is far too cute, not that Tony would ever tell him that. “Not this time. It’s just food. No strings attached.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish we had strings attached,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony doesn’t say, not only because it is the sort of corny stuff that he hates, but also because he’s sure it’d send Steve running out the door if he said something like that. “Thanks. I’ve got a job on the go at the moment, I need to get it done by three, so I’m a little pressed for time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s shoulders slump a little, but he nods, reaching for the bag again. “Well, I’ll just put these in the fridge then, you can eat when you’re done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony wishes that the line about the job wasn’t true, wishes that he could take a break and talk to Steve, but he can’t. “Sorry, Steve.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waving a hand dismissively, Steve drags the bag off the counter and heads towards the staff room. “It’s okay, I should have guessed you’d be busy. I’ll catch up with you another time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Steve’s gone again, the bell jingling in his wake, Tony heads back to the workshop, but there’s a nagging thought in the back of his head that doesn’t leave him alone for the rest of the day. He mulls on it as he eats, standing in the doorway of the staff room, while Pepper talks about her lunch date with Maria. He knows that he should be listening to her, but eating food that Steve brought makes Tony think about him instead. There was something off about him, something that Tony can’t quite put his finger on, and while he knows that it could just be that Steve was having a bad day, he thinks that it might be something more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s still nagging at him when he shuts up the shop that night, waving goodbye to Pepper when Maria comes to pick her up. He walks home, Steve’s calico bag filled with empty and freshly washed containers in hand, trying to push the thoughts from his head, deciding that the best option will be to swing by his apartment to grab a few beers and then head next door to Steve’s and see how he’s doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he knocks on the door, Steve answers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hands clad in rubber gloves and armed with a spray bottle of cleaning solution. His apartment smells strongly of citrus, overpoweringly so; every surface inside just about sparkling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spring cleaning in autumn?” Tony asks in lieu of a greeting, raising his eyebrows as he steps into the apartment, surveying the area. He tallies up days in his head, working back to when Steve had finally kicked his abusive alpha to the curb; they’d spent a weekend cleansing the apartment of any reminders of Brock Rumlow, and Tony thought that Steve had been doing fine since then. What he’s looking at now though looks like one of Steve’s cleaning frenzies, turned up to eleven. “Did you murder someone in here and now you’re trying to dispose of the evidence? Steve, if you need help hiding a body, just say the word and I’ll get the tow truck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve rolls his eyes, shutting the door and heading to the kitchen sink, setting down the spray bottle and dragging off the gloves. “No, no dead bodies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did fuckface come by and now you’re disinfecting?” Tony asks, trying to keep his voice humorous, but he’s actually worried that that might have been what happened. He’s seen Steve’s ex around a few times, trying to get back into Steve’s life, and just generally being an unpleasant dickhead, but the last time he’d been around was almost two months ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning against the sink, Steve’s shoulders stiffen, his knuckles going white as he clenches his fists. “No, it’s not that either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Dragging his gaze around the room again, taking in how clean everything is, how the couch and coffee table and the corner that makes up Steve’s art studio have all been rearranged. He knows that if he opens the fridge it’ll be stocked full of food that Steve made, which, while healthy, is odd given that Steve is just as likely to live off instant pasta for weeks on end, and constantly burns water because he gets distracted partway through. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His back to Tony, Steve shrugs, scuffing his foot against the floor. “Nothing’s going on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even without being able to see his expression, Tony knows Steve’s lying. He doesn’t call him out on it though, just unpacks the containers and puts them away again in the cupboards before grabbing two beers. Moving over to the sink, he leans against it, holding a beer out to Steve. “Wanna take a break from cleaning?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve huffs a sardonic laugh, cocking his hip against the sink and reaching for the beer. His fingers barely brush the bottle before he freezes. Slowly he curls his fingers back up and drops his hand, shaking his head. “I’d better not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flicking his gaze between the unwanted beer, Steve’s face, and the apartment in general, Tony takes in the colour on Steve’s cheeks, the dark bags under his eyes, and how everything is spotless in the apartment. “Steve?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “Tony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Setting both the beers aside, Tony takes another look around the room, breathing in deep through his nose. Beneath the overpowering scent of citrus from the cleaning spray, he can smell Steve, the scent of rain on hot earth. There’s something off about it though, which sparks the nagging thought in the back of his mind and he knows that it’s the scent, more than anything, that had him thinking something was off. It’s not Steve’s usual pre-heat scent change, it’s something else. “Steve.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a growl in his voice, authoritative, that he didn’t mean to let slip out, taking a step back from Steve when he sees him flinch slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clenching his jaw, Steve squares his shoulders, narrowing his eyes to glare at Tony in challenge. “Look, Tony, I’m not in the mood to be judged, or for an argument, so unless you’re going to stop with the alpha bullshit, you can leave.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Tony takes another step away. “Sorry, I’ll behave. So. Wanna talk about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs again, but most of the fight goes out of his body. “I dunno.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to go?” Tony asks, but Steve shakes his head before the words are even out of his mouth. “Wanna watch some food and eat some TV and definitely not talk about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a twitch of a smile in the corner of Steve’s mouth when he nods. “Sure, sounds good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nagging thought, the clues that his brain is trying to compile, Tony tries to ignore all of it in favour of respecting Steve’s privacy. He flicks through Steve’s DVD collection while Steve dishes up some food from the fridge, before they both settle on the couch, the first season of Brooklyn Nine Nine starting up on the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t we seen this plenty of times before?” Steve asks, curling up on one corner of the couch, feet kicked up onto the cushions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stretching out his legs in front of him and slumping down in the seat, Tony spears a piece of broccoli out of the stir fry Steve made, popping it in his mouth and then talking around it just to see the way Steve scrunches his nose in disgust. “We have, but I spent the afternoon rebuilding a carby, and I want to not think and just laugh right now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stretching one foot out to kick Tony in the thigh, Steve scowls at him. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, mother,” he grumbles dramatically, grinning at Steve and decidedly not telling him how adorable he is when he gets cranky. He can’t do that, can’t let on that he’s crushing hard on Steve. It started when they first met, when Steve was still with the fuckwit and off limits. Then Steve was single, but only recently out of a shitty relationship, and they were friends. He doesn’t want to risk losing that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fourth episode is just starting when Tony gets up to clear away their dishes.On his way back to the couch, with a beer for himself and a can of lemonade for Steve, he hears Steve clear his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The, uh, the books call it nesting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can barely hear Steve over the opening sequence playing on the TV. “What’s that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve turns slightly so he can look over the back of the couch at him, picking at a loose thread  on the cushion. “The cleaning, cooking, all of that. It’s nesting, but I mighta started a bit earlier than most.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nesting? What?” It’s entirely unintelligent, Tony knows it, especially when his brain finally catches up and pieces everything together. The flush to Steve’s cheeks, the dark smudges under his eyes, the slight difference in his scent all making sense. “Well. Shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve agrees, something distracted and sad in his expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving to sit back on the couch, Tony holds out the can of drink to Steve, telling himself not to stare. “How long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four months.” Taking the can, Steve fiddles with the top of it instead of opening it, staring at the wall to one side of the television. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Four months was just before fuckwit left; Tony remembers that night all too clearly. “So, it’s</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine,” Steve interrupts, hands clenching around the can. “It’s mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Tony nods, feeling relief creep through him knowing that Steve’s ex no longer has a hold over him. “You know what you’re gonna do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve turns to face him a look of fierce determination, underlined with fear. “I wanna keep it. I’m going to keep it. Been plenty of single parents before me. I can do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“’Course you can.” Smiling in what he hopes is an encouraging way, Tony reaches out and nudges Steve’s shoulder with his fist. “You know if you need anything, I’m always gonna be right next door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling back, thin and wavering, Steve nods. “Thanks Tony. For not judg</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except nappies,” Tony interrupts with a grin, feeling like they desperately need a shift in mood. “I ain’t gonna change the sprog’s nappies, I’ll tell you that right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve rolls his eyes, but his smile strengthens, growing more sure, and Tony takes the little wins where he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>///</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony knows that Steve being pregnant with another alpha’s baby should put him off. Most other alphas would have an issue with it, but if anything, it just makes Tony feel more protective of Steve. It doesn’t help that pregnancy looks good on Steve. His skin glows, and sometimes Tony catches him with a hand resting on his evergrowing baby bump and a tiny smile on his face. It’s an image of everything Tony wants in the world. Steve, happy and safe, even if he’ll never be Tony’s omega, he tells himself that just being around, being a part of Steve’s life, part of the baby’s life, will be enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t dare dream of more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t dreaming to educate himself though, which is the excuse he tells himself while he spends hours online looking up pregnancy and babies. He’s just educating himself in case Steve needs anything, then he’ll know what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t dreaming when he opens another savings account and starts setting money aside for Steve and the baby, in case they ever need anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even when he sets up a calendar of important dates, that’s not dreaming. It’s just preparing for the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he might slip up when he starts thinking of the baby exclusively by the nickname Sproglet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the weeks that follow, Tony knows that he spends more time around Steve. It goes from seeing each other in passing and maybe catching up once a week, to Tony calling past Steve’s place every night when he gets home from work. He catches the looks that Steve sends him, sees him go to say something, then shaking his head and going about what he was doing before. He’s waiting for the moment when Steve calls him out on all the extra attention, but he never does, so Tony doesn’t stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even when he offers to drive Steve to his six-month check-up, Steve doesn’t tell him to stop, though he does frown at him in confusion, until he clarifies that he’s just going to drive him, not come to the appointment with him. Though if Steve asked him to, Tony knows he would. He wants to look after Steve, it’s as simple as that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he’s doing fine, not dreaming, telling himself that Steve’s off limits, until Steve knocks on his door early one morning. He’s still in the process of getting dressed, jeans pulled up but undone, shirt in hand when he opens the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve seems frozen in place, staring at him for a long moment before he wrenches his eyes away, cheeks flushing as he does. He grumbles something under his breath that sounds almost like a good morning, then lifts his gaze to look Tony in the eye, cheeks still red, but expression fed up. “You always answer the door half-naked, Stark?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his shirt on over his head, Tony shrugs. “Only if I think there’s someone cute on the other side, but turns out it was just you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just rolls his eyes then holds out a stack of mail. “Your mailbox was overflowing again. You really need to empty it more often.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking the mail, Tony chucks it onto the kitchen counter as he heads back into the apartment. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve step inside.  “You come here just to tell me that? Or you gonna harass me about something else?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve fiddles with one of the envelopes he still holds in his hand, dog-earing one corner. “I got a letter from my aunt. Dad’s sister. She’s organising a family reunion. Apparently it’s been in the works for a while, invites got sent out a while back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About to pour himself a coffee, Tony hesitates so he can look back at Steve, where he still stands just inside the doorway. “What? She forgot where you lived?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs. “In the letter, she said she sent me one months back, but never heard back from me. Guess it got lost in the mail.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t sound convinced, and Tony doesn’t believe it for a second. If it was far enough back, it’s more likely that Rumlow had a hand in it. “Okay, so when is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This weekend,” Steve replies, sighing and stuffing the envelope and both hands in his hoodie pocket. “It’s upstate, at my aunt’s place. Her husband is pretty well-off, they have this estate. It’s a little out of the way though, so I’m going to have to call her and tell her I can’t make it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could drive you,” Tony hears himself offer, not even thinking the words over before he says them. “I mean, Pep has been nagging me for ages to take a weekend off, so I could do that. Might be nice to get out of the city for a while, go for a bit of a drive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve groans. “No, don’t be silly. It’s a long way, I can’t ask you to do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally pouring his coffee into a mug, Tony turns back to face Steve, noticing the way he’s shifting restlessly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking everywhere else other than at Tony. “First up, I’m offering, so it’s very different from you asking me to do something. Second, I really don’t mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Steve spits out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words hit like a physical blow. Too late, Tony realises how it must have sounded, how everything must seem to Steve, like he’s muscling his way into his life. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have offered. Of course, you don’t want me there. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was coming too. I can just drive you, if you want, just drop you off out the front and make myself scarce until you need a lift home again. That’s what I meant. Sorry if it sounded different to that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony, shut up,” Steve snaps, rubbing at his face. “It’s not you. If I actually wanted to go, I would take you up on the offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to go?” Tony asks hesitantly. It doesn’t sound right. From everything he’s heard from Steve, he always assumed that his family was close, that they all got along. It’s nothing like his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Steve’s face scrunches up. “It’s not that I don’t want to go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Piecing things together, Tony finds himself looking at Steve’s stomach, the baby bump barely visible underneath the overly large hoodie that Steve wears. It’s a faded red hoodie with a peeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>MIT</span>
  </em>
  <span> emblazoned across it, that Tony is sure had been his a month ago. Seeing Steve wearing his clothes stirs some latent primal and possessive feeling inside him that Tony doesn’t want to look at too closely for fear of it taking hold. “You haven’t told them about Sproglet, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hasn’t exactly come up in conversation yet,” Steve replies, shrugging like it’s no big deal, but he won’t look up, staring instead at the half-disassembled computer on Tony’s desk like it holds all the answers to the universe.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Setting his coffee down, Tony edges closer, stopping when he notices Steve stiffening slightly. “Do they know about fuckface?” Still not looking up, Steve extracts one of his hands from his pocket, wobbling it in a so-so fashion. “Ma and Dad knew that I was dating. They never met him though, not even sure I ever mentioned his name to them. We didn’t talk much for a while there. I haven’t told them we broke up. They don’t know what happened. The invite even still says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Steve and alpha.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you don’t want to go, because you don’t want to have the ‘surprise, I’m single and pregnant’ conversation with anyone?” Tony asks, having a fair idea that he’s correct; on more than one occasion Steve has mentioned how staunchly Catholic his dad’s side of the family is, how they’re big believers in sex after marriage and all of that. “Hate to break it to you, dear, but you aren’t going to be able to hide it forever. Sproglet is going to wanna come out and meet the world eventually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Steve pushes his face into his hand. “Don’t remind me, Stark. I know I’m digging myself into a hole. I know I should just tell the truth. But they’re all going to be so disappointed in me, and I’d rather they didn’t judge my baby for my mistakes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” The word comes out a little more forceful than he meant it to. Tony crosses the room, reaching out and gripping Steve’s shoulders, waiting for him to drop his hand from his face and look at him. “Sproglet isn’t a mistake. And fuckface isn’t your mistake. He was a dick, but that’s not on you. If you want this baby, you have this baby and to hell with anyone who judges you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s lips twitch into a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wish it was that easy not to care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squeezing Steve’s shoulders once, Tony lets go and takes a step back. He opens his mouth to say something profound and comforting, he really means to, but that’s the moment when he stuffs up and blurs his dreams and reality together. “You know, if you want, I can go with you, as your alpha.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain flashes across Steve’s face, and Tony doesn’t want to hear the rejection, so he powers on. “Fake alpha, I mean. Just so your family doesn’t judge you. I mean, I wanna help out with Sproglet anyway, so we can just say that this is part of it. Until your family gets to know and love Sproglet, and then I can leave you and they’ll hate me, not you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, glancing away, confusion crossing his face. “You’d do that? Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Tony moves toward the kitchen, in case he needs to make a break for it if Steve gets mad at him for overstepping a boundary. “Because every kid deserves to have a family that loves them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he doesn’t say is that he wants to be part of that family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony.” There’s pity in Steve’s voice, along with something else that Tony can’t quite pick out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to say yes or no now, just think about it. Still got the rest of the week to decide. And if you decide no, that’s fine, it’s your choice, I shouldn’t pressure you into seeing your family. I’m not. I mean, I’m not trying to, I just want that option to be on the table, and for you to know that if you want me, I’ll be right here waiting. If you want me there, this weekend, is what I meant to say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Tony,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at his face again. “I’ll think about it, okay? Thank you. I should let you get ready for work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony watches as Steve starts to leave the apartment, a little too stiffly, shoulders set. “Hey, Rogers, see you tonight?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tense line of Steve’s shoulders relaxes slowly as he glances back. “Sure thing, Stark.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Tony tells Pepper he’s going away for the weekend, she looks surprised. When he says he’s going to meet Steve’s family, she raises both eyebrows and says, “I didn’t know you and Steve were dating.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony just shrugs, not sure how to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper looks at him, skeptical and concerned all at once. “Are you doing this because he’s pregnant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That Steve is pregnant is starting to become an ill-kept secret. Not that Tony thinks it is meant to be a secret, more that Steve hasn’t been telling people when it isn’t their business. It was something he noticed when he first moved into the apartment next to Steve’s, that Steve’s social network consisted mostly of fuckface and his workmates. It’s only been since fuckface got kicked out that Tony started to hear Steve talking about friends he’d lost contact with, and it became obvious that his ex had been making efforts to isolate him. It was more that Steve didn’t have people to tell, than that he hadn’t been telling people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper knows that he isn’t the father, even though Tony hasn’t said as much. She also knows about his small crush on Steve. He can feel her judgment and pity, rolled together, but thankfully she’s tactful enough to bite her tongue and not say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just playing the role of his alpha for the weekend, that’s all,” Tony assures her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not looking at all convinced, Pepper gives him a soft look. “Just be careful, Tony. I don’t want to see either of you getting hurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to hurt him.” He means it too, he’d sooner die than hurt Steve. Though he can’t say the same for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>///</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drive upstate Friday afternoon, once Tony closes the shop for the weekend. Traffic is bedlam, but Tony takes care driving, keeping a more careful eye on his speed than usual, not wanting to put Steve and Sproglet in any more danger than necessary. He’s aware that he might be taking the protection thing a little too far, but every time he tries to back off, to not worry so much, it feels like he’s trying to tear out a vital organ. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t do it, he knows that, he can’t do this and not get attached to Steve. Somewhere in the last two months, his crush on Steve has bled into loving Steve, and while he knows he’s doomed, he’s not sure he’d have it any other way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over an hour later, when they finally break out of the city limits, Tony glances over at his passenger. Steve is curled in the seat, elbow on the window ledge, chin propped on his hand as he stares out the window at the passing scenery, getting harder to determine as the last of the daylight fades. His other hand is tucked under the edge of his hoodie, resting against his stomach. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>

</span>
  <span>It’s all Tony can do to keep both hands on the steering wheel and get his eyes back on the road, when everything in him yearns to pull the car over and curl protectively around Steve, hold him close and tell him how much he loves him. Instead, he glances at the GPS on the dash, noting the town coming up and reaches over to nudge Steve’s thigh. “Hey, you need to stop at all?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve tilts his head, blinking blearily at Tony, then shrugs. “You’re driving, if you wanna stop, then stop. I don’t mind. I told my aunt we’ll be there late anyway.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Chancing another glance at Steve, Tony flashes him a smile. “I can’t tell if that’s your passive-aggressive way of saying you don’t want to stop, or if you’re going to let me make the decisions so you don’t feel bad about wanting to put this family reunion off as long as possible.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Without looking, he can feel Steve glare at him, huffing in frustration. “I’m not putting this off.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sure, of course not. Why would you be?” Tony mutters in response, indicating to take the exit and pull into the gravel car park outside a roadside petrol station that doubles as a restaurant. “Anyway, I’m hungry.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Parking the car, he turns to Steve, resisting every urge to reach out and touch him. “You wanna come in and grab some food, or you wanna stay here?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Unclipping his seatbelt, Steve reaches for the door handle. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Food would probably be good.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Inside the building, Steve peels off towards the bathroom while Tony stops near the counter, perusing the menu board mounted on the wall behind it. He can hear other people in the restaurant area, but doesn’t pay them much mind, just looking through the food items waiting for Steve to get back to tell him what he wants to eat. They need to work on this system, Tony thinks, if they’re ever going to go on road trips again. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He’s caught up in the idea of family holidays that he knows will only happen in his dreams: him, Steve, and Sproglet, years down the track with several kids all packed into the backseat of the car, he drives while Steve watches the scenery pass on their way somewhere. It’s the life he wants, but knows he’s not likely to ever have. He knows that he’ll take whatever involvement Steve allows him to have in his life and Sproglet’s life, and he knows he’ll be grateful for any little opportunity he’s allowed. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He’s broken out of his thoughts by the sound of a wolf whistle. Looking to where it emanated, he sees a couple of guys blocking Steve’s way back from the bathroom. Between them, he can see Steve’s hands clenched into fists, the scowl on his face, the set of his shoulders, and knows there is about to be trouble. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Something the matter here?” Tony asks, walking over and stopping just behind the two men, the area rank with alpha posturing. It makes his back stiffen, teeth clenched against the growl that wants to escape him. Logically he knows he has no claim over Steve at all, but he can’t stand the idea of other alphas harassing him. He thinks it’s more because he still remembers clearly what fuckface had been like, how much of an abusive prick the alpha was, how he thought he could push Steve around just because of his chromosomes. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Just trying to talk, man,” one of the alphas replies, not looking at him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve glares at both of them, then at Tony, though it loses some of its bite, but it’s enough for Tony to know that Steve doesn’t appreciate being treated like the damsel in distress. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Loosening his shoulders, Tony tucks his hands in his pockets and gives Steve a look that he hopes conveys, </span>
  <em>
    <span>’All yours,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and takes a step back. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you, fellas. See, we’ve just spent two hours in a car together, arguing, and I know for a fact that my fiancé is spoiling for a fight. So, continue at your own peril.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Both the alphas then bother to look at him, their expressions changing when they notice he’s got at least an inch on both of them. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Shrugging, Tony gives them a grin that he’s sure is a little maniacal. “It’s the hormones, you know.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It gives the two men pause, they glance at each other, then to Steve, and back to Tony. The one who’d spoken takes a step back. “Sorry man, didn’t mean any harm.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The grin slides right off his face. “It’s not me you should be apologising to.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They both glance back at Steve, snap out quick apologies, and retreat to their table. Steve glares after them, then turns to glare at Tony as well. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What was that?” he hisses at Tony through clenched teeth. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Pulling his hands out of his pockets, Tony holds them up in surrender. “Sorry, I let the charade go to my head. Got all alpha-y on you. Won’t happen again.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve bristles again, an indecipherable emotion flashing across his face before he looks away. “I didn’t need your help.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Just because you don’t need my help, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, and it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to give it. You’ve had a hard lot, dear, it’s okay to not want to carry it all yourself.” Lowering his hands, Tony holds one out to Steve, an offer, an apology. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Relaxing in increments, Steve hesitates before taking Tony’s hand. “Thank you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They order food, eat, then get back on the road. Tony isn’t sure what it is exactly, but he feels like the atmosphere in the vehicle is different than before they stopped. Whenever he glances at Steve, he sees him quickly turn his face away, glancing out the window as though pretending that that’s what he’d been doing all along. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Turning down the stereo, Tony keeps his eye on the road even though he wants to look at Steve to gauge his reaction. “Okay, spit it out Rogers, what’s the big deal?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fiancé?” The skepticism evident in Steve’s voice. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Shrugging, Tony chances another quick look at Steve, giving him what he hopes is a confident smile that doesn’t at all give away any of his true emotions. “Thought we could make this fake relationship a little more official.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Frowning, Steve turns to look out the window again, folding his arms across his chest. The action tugs the front of his hoodie in, tucking over the outline of the baby bump. It’s everything Tony can do to drag his eyes away from it and look back at the road. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It was just an idea, Steve. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.” Forcing his eyes to stay on the road ahead of them, even though it was light on traffic, Tony hopes that he didn’t overstep back in the petrol station. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Better than saying we’re married,” Steve huffs out a hollow laugh, “But if you think I’m gonna agree to marry you without an engagement ring, you got another thing coming, buster.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tony drums his fingers against the steering wheel, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “About that.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve turns in the seat to look at him. “What about it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Letting go of the steering wheel with one hand, Tony reaches over to open the glove box. Amid the various other things in there is a worn-looking velvet box. He straightens up, leaving it sitting there in front of Steve in full view, hoping he can explain its presence without incriminating himself. “Figured, just in case we needed to make things more convincing.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve reaches into the glove box and pulls out the small velvet box, opening it carefully. The ring inside is a plain gold band, a few nicks in the surface testament to a life well worn, but it’s polished and well looked after. Clearing his throat, Steve tries to talk, but all that comes out is a strangled sort of sound.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“We don’t have to pretend to be engaged,” Tony hurriedly adds; not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing that he’s driving and unable to watch Steve’s reaction. “It was just an idea, but feel free to disregard it altogether, if you don’t like it.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There’s a snap as the case closes again. “It’s a good idea.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There’s something strange about Steve’s voice when he speaks again, still sounding a little strangled, but carrying something else that Tony can’t quite figure out. “I just didn’t expect you to have planned ahead so much.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You know me, always thinking of the future,” Tony replies, flashing Steve a grin, hoping that his reaction is positive enough to accept it. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Barking out a laugh, Steve shuts the glove box. “You can’t even decide what groceries you need to buy for the week, Tony, you don’t plan for the future at all.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s different. That’s the boring part of the future,” Tony counters, noticing, out the corner of his eye, that Steve still holds the small velvet box in his hand. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>///</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They arrive at Steve’s aunt’s place well after dark; Tony had to wake Steve up for directions once they’d hit the town limits. Surveying the house from where they parked at the end of a long row of cars already there, Tony’s not even sure he can see where it ends, letting out a low whistle. It rivals the mansion he grew up in, but somehow manages to look quaint and homely compared to the cold stone exterior he remembers from his childhood home. He’s about to comment on it when he glances over at Steve and notices his blank stare and white-knuckled grip on the door handle. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hey, Rogers.” Reaching out slowly, he touches the back of Steve’s hand, a little surprised when it jerks around, fingers curling vice-like around his own. “You okay, Steve?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Not taking his eyes off the house in front of them, Steve nods, then shakes his head, shrugging at the same time. His grip on Tony’s hand tightens. “I don’t know. Just nervous, I guess. What if they aren’t happy about the baby?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Shifting in his seat so he can reach over with his other hand as well, Tony touches Steve’s chin and tilts his face towards him. “Hey now, c’mon Rogers, I’ve never known you to be scared of anything. Where’s the tough, fearless guy I know? You’ve got this. If anything you say is actually the truth, your mum and dad both love you, and I know they’ll love Sproglet too. If anyone else dares not to, then that’s their problem, and they’re the ones who are going to miss out. And if anything goes to shit, I’ll pull the starter motors out of their cars, or something.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A smile flickers across Steve’s lips, the expression in his eyes turning more determined. “Don’t do that.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fine, I’ll glare at them over the top of your head and make vaguely threatening comments. That better?” Brushing his thumb against Steve’s chin, Tony offers what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “You’ve got this. And I’ll be right there the whole time, if you need me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It earns him an eye roll and a crooked smile, which Tony figures is better than nothing. Dropping his hand away from Steve’s face, he picks up the ring box from where it rests on Steve’s lap, flicking it open. “So, what do you say? Do me the honour of being my fake fiancé?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Smile wobbling slightly, Steve looks back up at the house in front of them before nodding. “Sure. If you call that a proposal, I pity the person you genuinely propose to. If anyone will put up with you for that long.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Harsh, Rogers, harsh. And here I thought you were my loving and devoted fiancé.” Tugging his hand out of Steve’s grip, Tony plucks the ring out of the box, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger, picking Steve’s hand up again and sliding the ring into place. It’s a little big, but he doesn’t think it poses much risk of falling off. It makes his chest ache that it isn’t real, that he’s being deliberately callous about it because he doesn’t want to get too attached to the idea of Steve being his. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fake fiancé,” Steve corrects, voice a little strained and his cheeks going red despite the exasperated look he gives Tony. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fakancé?” Letting Steve’s hand drop again, Tony turns to open his door. “Now c’mon, I’m pretty sure I can see at least fifteen faces pressed up against the windows, so we’d better not leave them waiting too much longer.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>As he steps out of the car and into the crisp night air, the front door opens and a man and a woman step out onto the front veranda. Steve gets out of the car after a moment, holding onto the top of the door like it’s the only thing keeping him in place. Tony can see the way he keeps glancing down, the way he smooths a hand over the front of his too-large hoodie, pressing it against his stomach and seeing the way it bows out. He can see the uncertainty in Steve’s features, nearly drowned out with steely determination, but enough there that he wants to gather him up in his arms and hold him. Wants to press his hands against Steve’s stomach and hold both him and Sproglet. Wants to tell Steve that while there is breath in his body, he’s going to look after them both, as sappy as the sentiment is. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Distracting himself before he gets too caught up in that fantasy, he knocks his knuckles against the roof of the car. Steve flinches slightly at the sound, jerking his gaze around and dropping his hand back to his side. Grinning at Steve through the tunnel of the car interior, feeling slightly manic, Tony tips his head in the direction of the house. “We doing this or what?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve’s lips press into a thin line, jaw tense, but he nods anyway, stepping away from the car and shutting the door. “We’re doing this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s enough determination in his voice that Tony follows suit, shutting the car door. He hesitates a moment, not sure if he should grab their bags from the boot or come back for them later. Steve, however, moves towards the back of the car, looking expectantly at Tony when he doesn’t move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No point making two trips,” Steve says by way of explanation, though his eyes dart nervously towards the house several times, body exuding tension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re stalling,” Tony points out, though he moves around to open the boot, hefting out Steve’s suitcase for him, before grabbing his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Steve can argue, there’s the crunch of gravel, announcing that they aren’t alone. Shutting the boot, Tony sees a man and woman approaching them; the familial resemblance between Steve and the woman is evident, they share the same fine features and bird-like bone structure. In the dimness outside the light of the veranda, Tony thinks that her hair might be lighter than Steve’s, held back from her face in a bun that looks like it might have been neat that morning. The man looks like everything Steve could have been if he’d had another decent growth spurt, tall and willowy, with the same slightly-too-big nose and determined jaw. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hello, dear, it’s been so long.” The woman bustles forward, crossing the last of the space between the house and the car, stopping awkwardly, just short of Steve, who is holding his suitcase in front of him like a makeshift barricade. She reaches out, hand caressing the side of Steve’s face, looking for all the world like she wants to pull him into a hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Ma,” Steve forces out, voice wobbling nearly imperceptibly. He looks past his mum to the man following her. “Dad. How have you been?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both smile at him, Tony can see the love in their gazes, see the way they’re both so happy to see Steve and he feels a pang of jealousy. He can’t even remember the last time Howard had contacted him. Didn’t think he’d ever been pleased to see him. It’s love that he hopes will be enough to bouy Steve through the weekend and the months to come.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma, Dad, this is Tony.” Steve’s voice pulls him back to the present, alerting him to the fact that all attention is on him, and for the first time the enormity of meeting Steve’s parents hits him. Steve gives him a pinched sort of look, uncertainty under steely resolve, before he continues, “My alpha.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though Tony knows he should be focusing on making a good impression, he thinks those two words could derail this whole ruse. Trying to keep in the jumble of feelings those words elicit, Tony forces an easy smile, stepping forward and extending his hand towards Steve’s dad. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Rogers.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Joseph,” Steve’s dad corrects, shaking his hand, grip firm, almost on the side of too tight. There’s a slightly pinched quality to his features, the same frown lines that Steve’s gets when he’s thinking or isn’t happy. “It is nice to finally meet you.” </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There’s something sharply pointed about the comment, a judgement there that Tony knows isn’t directed at him, but at Rumlow. Knowing that doesn’t stop the feeling of guilt though, the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind that he could have done something to help Steve escape his evil ex earlier. Taking a breath, Tony stomps that thought down; Steve deserved better than his pity, and he certainly didn’t need alphas posturing and acting as though he was some damsel in distress in need of rescue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeming to sense the tension, Steve’s mum steps forward with a bright smile, shooting a pointed look at her husband, before clasping Tony’s hand warmly. “Sarah. It’s lovely to meet you, dear, I’m so glad you were able to make it. I was starting to think you were keeping Steve from us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the warm smile and the easy jesting tone of voice, Tony feels that comment cut deeper than the stiff disapproval from Joseph. Despite knowing that Steve hadn’t told them much about his ex, or even that he’d given him the flick, Tony hadn’t prepared himself for any animosity being directed at him. At least not yet. He wasn’t meant to be the bad guy until much later on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony runs his own business,” Steve cuts in, coming to Tony’s defence. “He’s a mechanic, not much free time to get away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah’s face softens as she glances back at Steve. “I’m sorry, dear. I just feel like we don’t see you anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve drops his gaze to the ground, scuffing at the gravel with the toe of one battered sneaker. “Sorry about that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony feels his heart ache, wants to reach out towards Steve, but there’s a fraction too much space between them. Whatever distance there is between Steve and his family might not be his fault, but it isn’t Steve’s either, and Tony signed up for this gig to be the fall guy,even if he’d rather just track down Rumlow and inflict violence on him like he’s never wanted to do to anyone else. “No, you’re right. It’s my fault. Things have been hectic with the shop, plenty of work, but not quite enough to employ another mechanic, you know. And I just hate the idea of Steve heading off on his own. No telling what could happen to an omega travelling alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stares at him, jaw tense, the unsaid </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘what are you doing?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> clear on his face, before he masks it with a tense smile. “You worry too much, Tony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I can’t help myself.” If there’s too much feeling in it, Tony hopes that Steve will just think he’s really playing his part, and not that every word of it is the truth. There’s a minute twitch in Steve’s jaw at the term of endearment, but it felt like the right thing to say. It was one of the few terms of endearment that he recalls his mother using. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re so glad that you managed to take the time this weekend then,” Joseph says stiffly after a moment of silence, clearing his throat. “We appreciate that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure if it is passive-aggressive, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it either because Steve clears his throat in a very similar manner, drawing attention back to himself. There’s a determined set to his shoulders, the same challenging clench of his jaw that Tony remembers from when Steve told him about the Sproglet, and he knows what Steve’s about to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We,” Steve hesitates a fraction, eyes darting to Tony quickly, and the uncertainty in his gaze is all Tony needs to move closer to him, extending his hand towards him. Steve takes it, grip tighter than Tony thought he was capable of, though some of the tension does seem to seep out of his shoulders. A nervous smile flutters across Steve’s lips before he turns back to his parents again. “We have some news.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://thirstinart.tumblr.com/post/633803330087469056/for-the-bottom-steve-fest-title-and-for-all">See Tina's art here on tumblr!</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As Sarah takes their plates away, Tony watches Steve carefully where he sits at the table. There’re bags under Steve’s eyes, signs of fatigue that Tony was sure were reflected on his own face. Between working that day, driving upstate and the emotional rollercoaster of telling Steve’s parents about Sproglet and their fake engagement, Tony is exhausted. Being tucked into the warm kitchen and plied with food by Sarah hadn’t helped the matter. Neither had watching Sarah fuss over Steve, asking him over and over if he and the baby were okay, and how everything was going. It had done a number on Tony’s heart, because while it was reassuring to know that Steve was going to have the love and support of his parents no matter what, the counter to that was knowing that he didn’t really have a part in this family. Not beyond this weekend and whenever Steve decided to call an end to this whole ruse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Steve had told his parents about Sproglet, the myriad of expressions that had passed over Sarah and Joseph’s faces made Tony wonder if they’d already suspected. Whether it was a thought they’d held for a while, or just picked up on the first few minutes after he and Steve had arrived, Tony isn’t sure, but there had been a lack of shock in their features at the news. There had been doubt though, maybe fear, and for a second, Tony had been sure that it was going to go south quickly and he’d been preparing to step in, wondering whether Steve would want to get back into the car and head home again, when Sarah had bustled forward and wrapped Steve into a hug. What followed hadn’t been  congratulations as such, just a lot of questions about Steve’s health and how the pregnancy was tracking. Joseph had been quiet through most of the conversation, and when Sarah had wrapped her arm around Steve’s shoulders to lead him inside, Tony had braced himself for a dressing-down, past experience with his own father telling him that it was coming. Instead, Joseph had picked up Steve’s bags and invited Tony inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want anything else? A cup of tea? Coffee?” Sarah asks as she bustles back to the table, passing behind Steve and stroking her hand through his hair. Steve leans into the touch, humming something that might have been a negative. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we’d better let them go to bed,” Joseph cuts in, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scrape of wood against the tiled floor jerks Tony back to full consciousness, only then becoming aware that he was starting to nod off at the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that might be a good idea,” Sarah agrees, and Steve hums in agreement, starting to lever himself up out of his chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without thinking, Tony moves to help him, taking his hand and cupping his elbow, letting Steve put his weight on him. The smile he gets in response is soft and unguarded, and it makes Tony’s heart ache in his chest with longing. He wants to lean down and kiss that soft smile, rest his hand on his stomach so he can cherish both Steve and Sproglet. Pushing those thoughts aside, he waits until Steve is steady on his feet before moving away from him to pick up their luggage that he’d dumped in the corner of the kitchen before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think sleep is a good idea,” Steve mumbles, staggering towards the kitchen door, blinking blearily. “Where are we sleeping?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re in luck this year, dear, the kids have already claimed the basement,” Sarah tells them as she leads the way towards the stairs. “Which means you’re upstairs, in Immy’s room.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s tired mind supplies that it must be one of Steve’s cousin’s rooms, but focuses more on not knocking the luggage against the balustrade on the way up the stairs. Steve shuffles up the stairs in front of him, taking each step carefully. Tony can’t help but wonder if having to climb stairs is going to be the best thing for Steve, over the next few days. At least at the apartment complex there was an elevator he could use, even though they were only on the third floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They step up onto the second floor and Sarah leads them down the hallway to the left, and pushes open a door, standing back and gesturing for Steve to go in. Tony follows and instantly feels like he’s been hit in the face with a strawberry milkshake. </span>
</p>
<p><span>“Wow,” he barks out, looking around the room. The walls are pink, the ceiling is pink, the bed covers are pink. The wooden double bed frame is blessedly simple in contrast, as is the fine lace curtain reminiscent of a</span> <span>mosquito net that hangs from the ceiling, but it’s the only reprieve. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Steve glances over his shoulder at him, and then blinks back at the room owlishly. “Immy is seven.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t elaborate on it, as though the age explains the glaring shade of pink that the room is. Tony supposes that maybe it does; he never had the freedom as a child to decorate his own room. If he had, maybe he would have picked pink as well, something that would have riled Howard up for sure. “It’s like the love child of a musk stick and a marshmallow in here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve glares at him, though the effect of it is lost when he yawns loudly, barely catching it in time to cover his mouth. “She’s seven, Tony. Kids like pink.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Setting the luggage down at the foot of the bed, Tony stands there awkwardly, unsure of how he’s supposed to act while Sarah is still standing there in the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry about the bed, dear. I hadn’t expected it to need to fit three,” Sarah apologises with a soft smile. That same soft look she’d been giving him since she’d gotten over the initial shock of finding out that Steve is pregnant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve smiles in response, yawning again. “It’s okay, Ma. We’ll manage.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll leave you to it. Bathroom is just across the hall, if you need it.” With one last smile, Sarah disappears back down the hallway, her footsteps receding back down the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence settles over the room in her wake, and Tony isn’t quite sure if he’s meant to say anything now. If he’s meant to offer to take the floor, or if they are going to share the bed to keep up the ruse. Sleeping arrangements hadn’t crossed Tony’s mind; a grave oversight on his part, he now realises. From the corner of his eye he sees Steve shift uncomfortably, rubbing at his lower back as he yawns again. Maybe now isn’t the time for a mid-ruse crisis, Tony tells himself sternly, giving himself a mental shake to try and refocus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally his focus shifts back to Steve, taking in the way he looks dead on his feet, and Tony knows that he should encourage getting ready for bed, but there’s still lines of emotional tension on Steve’s face that worry him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, that went better than expected?” Tony’s words trail off into a question at the end, because he’s really not sure if the way his parents had reacted with concern, more than joy, was the reaction Steve was dreading, or if he’d been expecting worse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve turns to look at him, and seems to deflate even more, before shrugging. “Maybe. I don’t know. I still feel like I’ve disappointed them.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way Steve’s parents had reacted was definitely short of being a moment from a romcom movie, but there hadn’t been any malice in their reactions that Tony had been able to pick up on. The closest it came to what he would have called disappointment was when Joseph had asked if they were married, having spotted the ring on Steve’s finger, but most of that had faded when they’d replied that they were only engaged. While Sarah had rushed to reassure them that they didn’t need to get married, Tony suspected that most of the disappointment on Joseph’s part was the idea of his son getting married without telling them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’s that?” Tony asks, getting the feeling that blind reassurance won’t make Steve feel better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. It’s just…” Steve sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand across his face. “They had me too young and they rushed their wedding, I know that caused tension in the family. And what if they think I’m making all the same mistakes?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reaching out, Tony grips Steve’s shoulder and squeezes it gently. “You aren’t too young.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve opens his eyes enough to glare, stating flatly, “Thanks. Call me old. That’s going to help.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chuckling in response, Tony shifts his hand to tousle Steve’s hair. “I’m not. Besides, if I did, that would be admitting that I’m ancient, and I don’t think my delicate ego could handle that. All I’m saying is that you’re twenty-seven, not seventeen. You aren’t some teenager who doesn’t know who they are yet. And that’s not casting nasturtiums about teen parents. Just that, you have a job, and a home, and ten more years of pretending to be an adult to get better at it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aspersions,” Steve corrects after frowning at him in confusion for a moment. “Nasturtiums are flowers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really, Rogers? That’s your takeaway from this? I try to get all serious and wise for a moment, and you pick on my jokes?” Tony holds a hand to his heart, mock hurt, and calls it a win when Steve’s mouth twitches into a tired smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’m an old disappointment, with a job,” Steve mumbles, smile dropping away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think they’re disappointed with you,” Tony reassures, stepping closer and pulling Steve into a one-armed hug, tapping the top of Steve’s head with his free hand. “I think that’s just your tired anxiety brain telling you lies. Which they are very good at doing. I know, mine lies to me all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve leans against him, huffing out a sound like he’s trying to pass off a sob as a sardonic laugh. “God, I hope you’re right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, Tony is fine,” Tony counters, teasingly earning himself a muffled groan from Steve. “Now, sleep, I think. See how you feel about it all in the morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea. Sleep is good,” Steve mumbles in response, stepping back away from him, and it throws Tony right back to the beginning and the conundrum of sharing a bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you want to shower before bed?” Tony asks, for the lack of knowing what else to say, or how to bring up the subject of getting changed for bed. He’d showered after work, before leaving, so he was probably clean enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s face twists with indecision, before he nods slowly. “I’ll sleep better if I do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shifting Steve’s suitcase to the bed so he can access it easily, Tony squats beside his own duffle bag, unzipping it and rummaging through to find his toothbrush and pyjamas to change into. He glances up just as Steve starts to shuffle towards the door, catching his eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be quick,” Steve mumbles, flashing a lopsided smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take your time,” Tony replies softly. “I only need to brush my teeth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still, I won’t be long,” Steve reiterates before he slips out into the hallway. The door opposite opens and closes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the room to himself, Tony quickly changes into his pyjamas, folding the clothes he’d worn that day and tucking them back into his bag. At a loss for what to do with himself while he waits, Tony sits on the edge of the bed. He finds himself studying the dollhouse in the corner, and the myriad of toys that line the shelves along the walls. It’s a little girls’ bedroom if he’s ever seen one. There’s something so innocent and delightful about it, even if it is nauseatingly pink, that it makes Tony’s heart ache. He’s not sure how much of it is mourning the childhood he never had, and how much of it is longing to be a parent himself, to be able to love and dote upon a child, and protect them with every ounce of his being. He knows, without a doubt, that he’d do that for Sproglet, if Steve let him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How he hopes Steve will let him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door across the hall opens again, interrupting his thoughts, and he turns his head to track the movement in the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too late Tony realises his mistake as arousal swoops in his stomach and his blood rushes south so quickly it makes his head spin. He knows he’s staring, but he can’t stop himself, because Steve’s standing there wearing Tony’s faded </span>
  <em>
    <span>Empire Strikes Back </span>
  </em>
  <span>movie poster t-shirt that he’d lent him about a month back, and little else. It makes something hot surge up inside him, primal and possessive, and he isn’t sure what makes a more enticing sight: the way the loose collar almost hangs off of one shoulder, the soft drape of fabric over the baby bump, or Steve’s legs, bare, pale skin so white it’s almost translucent, that are on display. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room fills with the crisp scent of apples, of warm, damp skin that just accentuates Steve’s natural scent. It curls up into Tony’s sinuses, down into his lungs and he’d happily suffocate on that fragrance, even as it drives him to want and desire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seemingly oblivious to Tony’s crisis, Steve shuffles further into the room, draping his towel over the back of the desk chair and dropping his sponge bag and dirty clothes back into his suitcase, fiddling around with the contents for a moment. The collar of the shirt slips further off his shoulder, and it’s all Tony can do not to reach out and touch. He wants to curl his fingers over Steve’s shoulder, around the back of his neck, gather him close and—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony cuts that thought off abruptly, forcing himself to stand and start to move towards the door, because he knows he’ll do something stupid and irreversible if he stays there staring any longer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the sound of his name Tony whirls around, almost trips over his own feet, heart hammering in his chest because he’s sure Steve’s about to call him out on his alpha crap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve frowns at his tiredly, face creased with exhaustion, an adorable jut to his bottom lip that Tony is sure Steve isn’t even aware he’s doing as he gestures to his suitcase. “Can you move that please?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tony breathes all in a rush, relief flushing through him. “Sure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he moves the suitcase he can feel Steve watching him, and turns to find Steve frowning harder than before. “What’s wrong?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve blinks, then shakes his head, forehead creasing even more. “Sorry, for making you do everything. I could have done that. It’s just,” he hesitates, then waves a hand vaguely in the direction of his whole self. “Reflux is hell, bending over only makes it worse. I swear this kid is trying to squash my stomach up into my lungs.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wavering lopsided smile Steve gives him does nothing for Tony’s resolve not to touch. He has to curl his fingers tightly around his toothbrush to stave off the urge. “Well, there’s not much room for Sproglet in there, huh? Just wait ’til they move out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve grimaces exaggeratedly, but the smile that creeps onto his face as he rests a hand on his stomach is incredibly soft. His voice wavers as he admits, “Not sure I’m ready for that either.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no force in the world that could stop Tony from reaching out then. He grips Steve’s shoulder, the one blessedly covered by fabric, and squeezes in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “Chin up, Rogers. You can do this. I know you can. You’re going to be a brilliant parent, and you know you don’t have to do it alone. Your parents will be right there for you and their grandchild, I know it. And I’ll always be right next door.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An expression shifts across Steve’s face that Tony can’t quite recognise, and fearing the worst, he backpedals a fraction, adding jokingly, “For everything except nappies.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve groans and rolls his eyes, shoving Tony away gently. “You just want the cute baby moments and none of the responsibility.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reaching back over, Tony ruffles Steve’s hair. “Isn’t that the best thing about other people’s kids? You can cuddle them, then hand them back when they start crying.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Batting his hand away, Steve makes a valiant effort to smooth his hair back into place, with only mild success, grumbling, “I pity the omega who catches you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hits like a punch to the chest. Cold, sobering, and more painful than it has any right to be. He forces a laugh, knows instantly that it isn’t fooling anyone. “So do I.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s face falls. “Tony, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to brush my teeth,” he cuts Steve off, waggling his toothbrush towards him and flashing a grin that he doesn’t feel. “Be right back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ducking across the hall, Tony hides away in the bathroom and doesn’t even try to kid himself that he isn’t. For all he told himself that he wasn’t going to lose his head, was going to get through this weekend for Steve’s, and Sproglet’s sake, he’s not sure how he’s going to. It’s going to hurt like hell when their fake engagement ends, Tony knows that, he can already feel a premature ache for it. Though he’s sure that it won’t change anything for him and Steve while they are back in their apartments, living next door to each other. But the idea of never being invited to future family events cuts deeper than it has any right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brushes his teeth harder and for longer than he should, but it feels good to take some of his frustration out on himself before he has to go back and face Steve. When he feels like he can’t put it off any longer, he switches off the bathroom light and slips back across the hallway to the bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The main light is off, with only the lamp beside the bed illuminating the room, casting everything in a soft pink light. Steve’s tucked under the covers, various pillows arranged around him, some that Tony can see, others obviously there by the lumps they form under the pink bedspread. Closing the door softly behind him, Tony stands there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what he’s meant to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve lifts his head slightly, tugs a pillow a little higher, and then flops back down, turning his gaze to Tony. “You coming to bed?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, just wondering if there’s any room in there for me with all the pillows,” Tony counters with a grin, trying to make his voice as light and joking as possible. It isn’t Steve’s fault things got tense before, and he is a better person than to take it out on Steve. He had to be better. Better than Howard, better than Rumlow. And not just slightly better, he told himself. He had to be miles better. For Steve, and Sproglet. And for himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve responds with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I think there’s room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tension from before still lingers at the edges, but it isn’t as bad as it was. Tony creeps across the room, and carefully moves the covers aside so he can slip into the bed. He tries to get into the bed without jostling Steve too much. Once he’s settled onto his back, Tony can’t help but be hyperaware of Steve beside him. Every breath he takes, the slightly laboured quality to it, every swallow, every slight movement; Tony can feel them all with every fiber of his being. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough room?” Steve asks around a yawn, reaching to switch off the lamp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tony replies quietly; it feels wrong to talk at a normal volume. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence lapses for a moment, then Steve shifts in the bed, adjusting his multitude of pillows. Once he settles again, his voice creeps across the darkness between them. “I’m sorry about before.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry abou—” Tony starts to protest, because it really wasn’t Steve’s fault that he got upset, but cuts himself off at the soft touch on his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Tony. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. You’re a great guy, and a wonderful friend,” Steve continues, voice determined as his fingers pluck at the fabric of Tony’s shirt. “I’m sure you’d be a brilliant alpha and when you find the right mate you’ll make them very happy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But I want to make you happy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony doesn’t say, practically choking on the words in his effort not to admit them. “Thanks, Steve.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words come out strangled, and the silence that follows feels awkward, so Tony stumbles on. “You too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears Steve give a snort of derision, huffing out a sardonic sounding laugh. “Who’s going to want an omega pregnant with a child who isn’t theirs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a rhetorical question, Tony knows that, but even so he wants to answer. He doesn’t. It feels like entirely the wrong time to heap his confessed feelings onto Steve, and way too precarious a situation in which to do it. Cornering Steve in bed, only half-dressed, and surrounded by family who believed they were dating was not how Tony wanted to tell Steve he liked him, if he ever did. He swallows that sentiment back down, instead moving his hand to cover Steve’s giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. “At least you know your parents are going to stick by you and Sproglet.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even through the darkness Tony thinks he sees Steve smile a fraction. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They love you, of course they are going to support you,” Tony reassures softly, wishing he hadn’t let go of Steve’s hand, but sure it would be too awkward to take it again. “You’ve got a good family. Despite all the lies your head is telling you. Tell it to shut up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s another short laugh, this time nervous. “Just wait until we tell my grandparents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony hopes it isn’t as bad as Steve seems to think it will be, but he isn’t sure how to voice that in a way that doesn’t sound like he’d be dismissing Steve’s worries. He mulls over it too long, and before he can think what to say he hears Steve’s breathing change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweet dreams,” Tony whispers, not expecting a response. It doesn’t take long before he feels himself drifting off to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony wakes with a start. There’s something tugging on his arm, desperate and urgent, and Tony sits bolt upright, pushing himself up against the headboard and reaching for the lamp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve? What’s wrong?” Light floods the room and Tony blinks down at the bed, trying to clear the blurriness from his vision and seek out Steve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve squints back up at him, eyebrows pulled down in a frown. He’s still gripping Tony’s arm, using it to try and pull himself up from his nest of pillows, his other hand trying to lever himself off the bed. “Tony?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everything okay? Is something wrong? Is it Sproglet?” Tony asks all in a rush, reaching out to help Steve sit up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shuffling closer to the edge of the bed, Steve frowns at Tony in confusion. “Huh? No, oh, no, nothing’s wrong.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony leans across, helping Steve pull back the covers and watches as Steve swings his legs out of bed, standing stiffly, grunting at the effort. Without saying anything else, Steve shuffles towards the door, opening it and slipping outside into the dark hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony stares dumbly at the door, his heart still rabbiting in his chest, nervous energy pushing all the exhaustion from his body. It feels like an eon before he hears the toilet flush and the door open and close across the hallway. Steve shuffles back into the bedroom a moment later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve glances up at him as he starts to climb back into the bed, blinking sleepily. “What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Tony asks, cautiously, offering his hand to Steve for support. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, hmm,” Steve mumbles, levering himself back into the bed, gripping Tony’s hand and using him as an anchor to drag himself over the mattress, then wiggling back into his pillow nest. “Just had to pee. Sorry, you’re getting to see all the ugly side of pregnancy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony flops back against the headboard, adrenaline fleeing his body and leaving him exhausted in its wake. “I thought something was wrong. You scared me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looks at him puzzled, and then a little startled, fading into a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you, lots of toilet breaks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reaching up to flick the lamp off, Tony settles back into the bed, peering through the darkness to where he knows Steve’s face is. “You’d tell me if something was wrong though, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s the scratching of fabric and then Steve’s hand finds Tony’s awkwardly in the dark. “You’ll be the first to know. And thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For worrying? Sure, no problem,” Tony offers with a short laugh, not really sure what he’s being thanked for, and thoroughly distracted by the feel of Steve’s hand against his. His skin is so soft, devoid of any of the calluses and cracks that litter Tony’s own hands, and he wants to wrap both his hands around Steve’s and not let go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For everything,” Steve counters, thumb tapping against the back of Tony’s hand. “For everything you’ve done for me. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twisting his hand around, Tony grips Steve’s hand in return. “You don’t have to thank me, Steve. I’m in this with you, as long as you need.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He means it, from the bottom of his heart, though he doubts Steve knows just to what extent he means it. He’d do anything for Steve and Sproglet. Anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve just squeezes his fingers gently, and Tony thinks he can almost feel the smile Steve’s giving him. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So here we are again! Update time! Annnnnd...<br/>This week comes with more art!!!!</p>
<p>Go shower our lovely artist, Tina, with all the love for this beautiful art! I mean, beautiful! Go look at it! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Also want to take this chance to thank everyone who has commented on this fic too! Sap and I are going to reply to all of them, we promise, I just need to get past my assignment deadlines first. But please know that we are reading and loving all of them comments so far!</p>
<p> <a href="https://thirstinart.tumblr.com/post/636330740315013120/art-for-sirsapling-and-s-hylor-s-and-for-all">You can visit Tina and her gorgeous art for us here!!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tony knows he woke several more times during the night, but knowing that Steve was only going to the toilet, he didn’t surface to full consciousness. When he finally wakes again properly, feeling better rested than he did most mornings despite the interrupted sleep, Tony can see the glow of sunlight through his eyelids, and he feels warm. Almost too warm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a weight against his chest, something warm and solid that is snoring lightly against his neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony blinks, lifts a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and cranes his neck awkwardly to look down at Steve. The omega is cuddled up against his side, head resting on Tony’s shoulder, open mouth breathing against his neck.There’s a damp patch on Tony’s shirt beneath Steve’s mouth, but he can’t bring himself to care. One arm is curled over Tony’s chest, a leg hooked over his. He can feel the weight and shape of Steve’s baby bump resting against his side. At some point during the night, or on one of his many efforts to crawl back into bed, Steve had obviously migrated out of his pillow nest and to Tony’s side of the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite feeling too warm, Tony doesn’t want to move. It feels like the perfect way to wake up, the sound of Steve breathing, soft and snuffly snores, the way his body seems to fit perfectly against Tony’s. He has an arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, holding him close, and he can’t stop himself from tightening his hold to pull Steve closer still. He wants to drag him impossibly close, until their bodies meld together, until there is no space between them. There’s a low thrum of arousal that sizzles just beneath his skin, but it’s easy to ignore, to just feel the lazy warmth it brings him. He wants to kiss Steve, to crane his neck and press his lips to Steve’s forehead, to trace his hands all over Steve’s body. To hold him and worship him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a change of pitch to Steve’s breathing, a slight catch as he swallows, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. Grumbling, Steve shifts his arm, rubbing his hand over his mouth, before he drops his arm back against Tony’s chest. It’s that movement that seems to make Steve freeze, then his hand skates searchingly across Tony’s chest, as though trying to suss out his surroundings. Making a noise caught between a grumble and a wordless question, Steve shifts ever so slightly, lifting his head up and blinking sleepily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning, sleepyhead,” Tony greats softly, voice husky with the lack of use. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve blinks at him, adorably confused and sleep soft. He peers around, as though he has no idea where he is, before his gaze settles back on Tony again, eyebrows pulling together, perplexed. “Mornin’.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s voice is croaky, matching the sleepy expression on his face and the creases left on the side of his face from Tony’s shirt. He drops his head back down, pressing his face back against Tony’s shoulder as though he’s still too tired to want to wake up fully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without thinking, Tony strokes his hand over Steve’s side, following the curve of his shoulder and down his arm. “Sleep okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve grunts in response, then hums another sound that might have meant to be words at another time. He wriggles a little on the bed, as though he’s trying to burrow closer, fingers curling around the fabric of Tony’s shirt. He grunts again after a moment, this time more winded than sleepy and rolls over more angled onto his back, shifting his hand to rub at his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay?” Tony asks, concern lancing through him, pushing all other feelings aside. He curls his body up the best he can, craning to see Steve’s face, noticing the way his eyebrows are bunched together and lips pursed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve mumbles, still rubbing at his stomach. “Bub’s just kicking, is all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sproglet is kicking?” Tony can’t stop the wonder and curiosity from slipping into his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nods, his head moving against Tony’s shoulder, then reaches out blindly, feeling around for Tony’s hand. When he finds it, he grabs Tony’s wrist and pulls his hand towards him, pressing Tony’s hand to his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels like the whole world slows to a near standstill as Tony’s hand settles on Steve’s stomach and there’s a long—achingly long—moment where nothing seems to happen before Tony feels a small pressure hitting the palm of his hand. His heart swells, every emotion he feels jamming into his chest and spilling over, making it impossible for him to do anything but grin like an idiot and hold Steve tighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey there, little Sproglet,” Tony hears himself say, hears the huff of indignation that Steve gives him in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You gotta stop calling the baby that,” Steve grumbles, but his hand slides on top of Tony’s holding it in place against his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shifting more onto his side, curling his body towards Steve’s, Tony nudges his forehead against the top of Steve’s head. “If you told me Sproglet’s name, I wouldn’t have to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t have one picked out yet,” Steve counters, as he guides Tony’s hand over a few centimeters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got a shortlist?” Tony ventures to ask, not sure if he’s crossing the line at all. They haven’t talked much at all about the future, about what will happen once Sproglet is born, whether Steve will even want him around after the fact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shrugs, fingers stroking against the back of Tony’s hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Tony asks, even though he’s sure he shouldn’t, but he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t think to stop himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve hums a vague sound. A nonanswer. It makes Tony think that Steve does know, but has decided not to tell anyone. They lapse into silence after that, Steve moving Tony’s hand every so often, his breathing getting deeper in a way that Tony suspects means he’s drifting off to sleep again. The scent that he’s giving off is warm and content, and Tony wants to suffocate in it, wants to believe that some of it is because of him, because of the way they’re tucked into the bed together, warm and safe, and so tantalisingly domestic. It’s how Tony wants to wake up every morning. How he wants to go to sleep every night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a long moment, Steve yawns loudly. “Is it terrible that I don’t really want to go out there?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shifting slightly, Tony lifts his head so he can see Steve’s face, the way his forehead creases with worry and he glares petulantly at the door. “No.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve glances back at him, eyebrows raising in question. “It’s not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t help how you feel, and it’s okay to be nervous or anxious about seeing family you haven’t seen for a long time. Especially when you’re worried about how they’re going to react.” Tony reassures, shifting to fish Steve’s left hand out from under the blankets. He holds it up, so Steve can see the ring that still adorns his finger. “You’re just trying to protect Sproglet, and that’s the most natural thing in the world. And you will. Me and this, we’re just extra shielding.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve seems to contemplate the ring, glancing between it and Tony several times before finally asking, “You going to tell me the story behind this?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ache of old grief hits Tony like it does every time he thinks about his past, but he can remember the people from it now more fondly than sadly. “It was Ana’s. Edwin and Ana Jarvis were my family’s live-in help, when I was a kid. They played a bigger part in raising me than my own parents did, and I think part of that was because they saw me as the child they never had. This ring was one of the things I got to remember them by. Jarvis said he wanted me to have it, for when I met that special someone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” There’s so much pity packed into that one sound, along with an undercurrent of something else that Tony can’t decipher. “Tony, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—I probably shouldn’t be wearing this then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, hush. Don’t be silly,” Tony rushes to say, gripping Steve’s hand tight to stop him from attempting to take the ring off. He’s not sure if his heart would handle that right now, with how soft and warm the moments between them since waking have felt. “I think, I think Jarvis and Ana would approve of this. They’d find the whole thing amusing, I’m sure, but they’d understand why we’re doing this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t mention that he is sure Jarvis would have stared him down, silently judging him for not admitting his actual feelings, and Ana would fuss over Steve and threaten to scold anyone who did him wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, if you’re sure,” Steve ventures cautiously, as though he half-expects Tony to change his mind at any moment. “I’ll look after it, I promise.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And I’ll look after you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony doesn’t say, no matter how much he wants to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mood shifts after that. Outside the room they can hear other people starting to move around, the stairs creaking as everyone descends to the ground floor. When things fall quiet on the top floor, Steve finally drags himself out of the bed and sneaks across the hallway to the bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony takes advantage of that time to get dressed, and is remaking the bed when Steve shuffles back into the room, dressed in clean clothes, his t-shirt pulled tight across his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You making a statement, or just run out of clothes that fit?” Tony asks playfully, flashing Steve a grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The latter, but I guess that is going to lead to an unplanned statement?” Steve screws his face up in a self-deprecating sort of smile. Then he shrugs, going to dig around in his suitcase. “It’s been hard finding maternity clothes that I both like and can afford. The pants were a lucky find in a thrift store.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pants, Tony notes, are decidedly not the loose track pants that Steve had worn most days recently, but were black and hugged all his curves in a way that Tony finds extremely distracting. He’s not sure if it’s Steve’s butt, or the way the waistline of the pants curves over the lower half of Steve’s belly that is the most eye-catching. Either way, he has to drag his gaze elsewhere when Steve turns away from his suitcase, holding up what looks like a knit sweater and collared shirt combo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The top is another matter,” Steve informs him with disdain, face scrunched uncomfortably. “You’d think maternity wear would be about comfort right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony eyes the top, feeling like he’s about to walk into a trap. “I’m guessing that’s rhetorical?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes, Steve slips his arms into the top and struggles to wriggle it down over his head. “I tell you what, Stark, this shirt sucks. It itches, and I hate it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s head appears through the neck of the top, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed. Tony can’t help but reach out and straighten the collar, folding it down neatly. The collar is white and stiff, while the knit part of the shirt is a soft grey. Despite the muted colours, Tony can’t help but notice how much it accentuates Steve’s eyes, throwing the normally clear blue into something stormier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does look good on you though,” Tony reassures him, tugging at the collar again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s bottom lip juts out as he glares at Tony. “I hate it. I want my hoodie back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your hoodie, is it?” Tony teases. “Funny, don’t remember you going to MIT.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, or whatever the saying is,” Steve argues, glare turning challenging as he tries to straighten out his hair. His expression sobers upon hearing what sounds like a herd of elephants running, squealing through the house below them. Taking a deep breath, he blows it out and looks at Tony, anxiety plain on his face. “I guess this is it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess,” Tony echoes, reaching for Steve’s hand and squeezing it gently. “You’ve got this. And like I said, things go south, everyone loses their starter motors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a flutter of a smile across Steve’s lips, nervous and barely there, but he nods resolutely. “No point procrastinating?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounds too much like a question for Tony to just dismiss. Trying for a comforting smile, he squeezes Steve’s fingers gently again. “At any point that you want to bail on this weekend, or even just want a bit of a break from it all, just say. I’m here to run interference, distract, sabotage motor vehicles, whatever you need.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s smile flickers stronger. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just want to wreck people’s cars.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony grins back, tugging on Steve’s hand, guiding him towards the door. “I’d say you know me just well enough.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And oh how I regret that,” Steve counters teasingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wound me, Rogers. Wound me.” Feigning hurt, Tony gives Steve his best over exaggerated hurt look as he opens the door and gestures to invite Steve to go first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not letting go of Tony’s hand, Steve leads the way through the door out into the hallway, turning towards the stairs. “Someone has to keep your ego in check, Stark.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some of the frivolity has slipped out of Steve’s voice, and Tony can only assume it’s due to a sense of impending doom at encountering the rest of the family. Squeezing his hand in a show of comfort, Tony lets Steve set the pace down the stairs, letting himself be used for balance. They’re halfway down the stairs when Sarah appears from the direction of the kitchen, heading for the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops when she sees them, face splitting into a warm smile. “There you are, I was just about to come and make sure you weren’t going to spend the whole day in bed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounds teasing, but Tony still feels the edge of guilt associated with getting told off as a child. Steve just groans exaggeratedly and drags their entwined hands up to glance at the watch strapped to Tony’s wrist. “It’s not that late. It’s barely 7:30, ma.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mind you, if your father was half as handsome as your alpha, I wouldn’t want to get out of bed either,” Sarah waggles her eyebrows suggestively, and Steve goes bright red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony almost laughs, because Steve’s splutter of indignation and mortified “Ma!” are amusing, but then it hits him exactly what Sarah was implying, and he’s got mortification of his own to deal with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah does laugh at them though, beckoning them down the stairs even as she does. “Don’t act like such a prude, Steven, there’s too much evidence to say otherwise.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ma,” Steve grumbles, face still bright red, glaring at his mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony feels Steve’s hand go sweaty in his, and he can’t help but feel the secondhand embarrassment. Despite the comments being about him, Tony feels too removed from the situation. Sarah only thought he was the one responsible, that he was Steve’s alpha, but he knew he wasn’t, and that stark reminder hit like a punch to the gut. He swallows down the ache of longing that blooms in his chest and hopes that his discomfort can be played off as a reaction to the situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I won’t talk like that around the baby,” Sarah reassures, reaching out to wrap Steve in a one-armed hug as they reach the ground floor. “Now come on, you must be hungry, I saved some breakfast for you. You’re not picky about food at all, are you, Tony? I would have asked earlier if I knew how to contact you, but we’re going to have the barbecue going for lunch, so it’s plenty of meat, I’m afraid.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That won’t bother me,” Tony assures her, letting himself be directed towards the kitchen where they’d eaten the night before. As they approach, Tony can hear commotion coming from inside, and grips Steve’s hand a little tighter. Steve glances at him nervously, and Tony can feel the slight tremor travelling through him, and the way his face has gone pale again. Leaning closer, Tony ducks to whisper to him. “You’ve got this. If not, starter motors, remember.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve chokes out a nervous laugh, rests a hand on his stomach and gives Tony a resolute nod as they’re ushered through the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a tall willowy woman already in there, her light brown hair cut short and stylish, and features startlingly similar to Joseph’s. She looks up from the various foodstuffs spread out on the island bench in front of her, face splitting into a pleasantly polite smile as she spies them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stevie, you made it! It’s so good to see you.” She’s already moving as she speaks, wiping her hands on a cloth which she drops back to the counter as she moves around the island bench towards them. She closes in, leaning down to bump her cheek against Steve’s in the approximation of a kiss, holding her hands out of the way as though they were still dirty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she straightens up, Tony notices the way that her eyes jerk down to Steve’s stomach, then back up, just as quickly, glancing towards Sarah with a look that seems more confused and upset than anything else. Steve’s fingers tightening on his indicate that he wasn’t the only one to notice. Sarah gives the slightest of nods, and with a blink, the other woman turns her attention back to them, smiling brightly and all teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must be Steve’s alpha,” she says, by way of greeting, to Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shifts ever so slightly, moving closer to Tony. “Tony, this is Aunt Mary. Dad’s sister. Aunt Mary, this is Tony, my fiancé.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary’s smile flutters ever so slightly, but doesn’t fade. “Oh, aren’t you just full of surprises and news, Stevie?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mary,” Sarah warns lowly, before changing tracks entirely. “Now where are those leftovers from breakfast, I’ve got two hungry boys to feed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Sarah propels them past Mary and into the kitchen, Tony flashes her a stiffly polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. I hope that the drive up wasn’t too bad yesterday,” Mary replies, heading back to her spot at the island bench, resuming the task at hand. “The traffic leaving the city can be dreadful around the weekend.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No worse than it is in the city every day,” Tony counters politely, letting himself be shuffled across the room, towed by Steve’s hand as Sarah leads them towards a set of covered plates on the edge of the counter. “It was much better once we got clear of the city though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good,” Mary agrees, and Tony catches her throwing looks at him and Steve, before her eyes dart back to the food preparation in front of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, kids, there’s, hmm, warm-ish bacon, and eggs that you can probably bounce now,” Sarah interrupts, uncovering dishes and bustling around the kitchen to get them plates and cutlery of their own. She hastily dishes food up onto the plates before handing them over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve finally drops Tony’s hand to accept the plate from Sarah, starting to pick at the pieces of bacon with his fingers, breaking off crispy edges to eat while standing there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah stares at him in mock horror, brandishing a pair of tongs at him. “I taught you better manners than that, Steven Grant Rogers. Now, don’t clutter up the kitchen. There’s a perfectly good dining room through there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, ma,” Steve mumbles the apology, dropping the bacon back to the plate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he goes to walk past Sarah and towards the door, she reaches out, resting her hand on the side of his face. “Love you, sweetie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a stiffness to the way that Steve nods that worries Tony, though he can’t see his face to gauge his expression. There’s nothing bad in his voice though when he replies in kind, or the way Sarah smiles softly at her son. It’s evidence of a close relationship, despite Rumlow’s attempts to distance Steve from his family, and it makes Tony’s heart ache. He can’t remember the last time he spoke to his own parents, let alone heard that they loved him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You took all your meds, honey?” Sarah asks, still holding her son’s face, expression soft and caring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, ma,” Steve replies, his tone comfortably exasperated, like this is a conversation they have had many times over. “And all my vitamins.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Sarah affirms, stepping closer to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I just want to know you’re still taking care of yourself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am,” Steve reassures her, though Tony can hear ’now’ go unspoken at the end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Memories of black eyes and bruised wrists flash, unbidden, through Tony’s mind, and the possessive protective instinct in him rears up, wanting to grab Steve and bundle him back into the bed upstairs, wrap him in blankets and hold him in hopes that nothing bad will ever happen to him again. Stiffly, Tony reminds himself that Steve hadn’t needed anyone to rescue him from Rumlow in the end, that he’d done that all on his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything else you boys want? Tea, coffee, juice?” Sarah asks as she steps back, sunny smile back in place as she turns her attention back to Tony as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just water is fine for me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coffee, please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, now you boys go sit down and eat before the food gets any colder. I’ll bring drinks in a second. How do you have your coffee, Tony?” Sarah asks as she waves them towards the door to the dining room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Black, no sugar.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Black.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They speak at the same time, voice overlapping, and Sarah just smirks knowingly at them when Steve’s ears go red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s just stepping through the door to the dining room when a high-pitched squeal comes from somewhere further in the house. Tony’s shoulders tense instinctively, but it is an excited sound, not one caused by anything sinister. It’s followed up closely by the sound of a young child’s voice screaming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“STEEEEEVE!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A stampede of footsteps approaches, all the warning that is given before a small form crashes into Steve, arms wrapping around him, hands not meeting as they scrabble for purchase against his shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve! Steve! Steve! Steve!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s body goes taut, arm raising rapidly to awkwardly hold his breakfast plate out the way. “Immy?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, silly!” The little girl giggles, voice still too loud and too high- pitched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony steps closer, reaching to take the plate from Steve’s hand, allowing him to wrap his arms around the small child clinging to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at how tall you’ve gotten,” Steve exclaims in astonishment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got fat,” the little girl counters, voice matter of fact, but devoid of malice.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The immediate silence that follows sucks the air out of the room, leaving a void of awkwardness. Steve’s ears go red again as his shoulders stiffen, and Tony wants to laugh even though the moment is more mortifying than awkward. He’d forgotten how brutally honest small children could be. How they didn’t gain filters until their early teens at least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a clatter from behind them in the kitchen, accompanied by a shocked gasp. “Imogen Roisin, you apologise this instant!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An indignant face pokes around Steve’s side, looking at Mary. “Why? It’s the truth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony does snort with suppressed laughter then, unable to help himself. Sarah swats him gently on the shoulder, shushing him, even as Steve’s own nervous laugh echoes his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It isn’t a nice thing to say, so apologise,” Mary reiterates sternly, her tone indicating that she is a force to be reckoned with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imogen sighs, loudly and dramatically, arms dropping away from around Steve’s waist as she takes a step back. “I’m sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Steve reassures her, his voice still wobbling with mirth. “You’re right anyway. But there’s a good reason why I’ve gotten fat. I’m having a baby.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imogen’s eyes go wide with shock before her face splits into a wide grin as she squeals again. “A baby?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nods, his own smile starting to form, soft and cautious. “Yeah, a baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imogen’s face lights up even more, a feat which should have been impossible, before she turns and squeals back into the dining room. “Char! We’re going to be aunties!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not how it works,” comes the much quieter argument from within the dining room, the voice sounds just as young as Imogen, though a lot calmer and softer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to be aunties!” Folding her arms over her chest, Imogen stamps her foot, reiterating petulantly. She turns to glance at Steve again, searching for affirmation. “Aren’t we, Steve?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Chipmunk,” Steve promises her, reaching out to stroke his hand through her hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s good with children; the realisation hits Tony so hard he can practically feel it. It’s not that he had thought Steve wouldn’t be good with children, but he’d never seen any evidence to suggest he was. It makes Tony’s heart feel too large for his chest, makes him feel like he’s about to choke on his own love for Steve. Every time he thinks he can’t love Steve anymore, he swears the omega deliberately does things to prove him wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s the daddy?” Imogen pipes up again, words rapid-fire, grabbing Steve’s arm and swinging it enthusiastically, staring at him with wide eyes. “Did you get married? Why wasn’t I the flower girl?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh, Immy,” Steve presses a finger to her lips with his free hand, smiling in spite of the reprimand. Then he turns ever so slightly, turning to smile back at Tony. “And this is Tony, my alpha. We’re not married yet, so don’t you go scaring him off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just like that, he’s falling in love with Steve all over again. Tony’s not sure if it’s the cheeky glint in Steve’s eyes, or the soft smile, or the way he said ’my alpha’ like it isn’t a lie, but he can feel himself falling head over heels again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks again to everyone who has been commenting on, leaving kudos, or even just reading this story. </p>
<p>Sap and I are going to take a break over Christmas. The next chapter is getting pushed out to three weeks, instead of two, so it won't be posted until the 6th of January, while we take time to spend with our respective families in our respective corners of the world. </p>
<p>We want to thank everyone for their patience, and wish everyone a happy and safe holiday season.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He can’t help but smile back at Steve, then wrench his gaze away when he remembers there are other people around. He shifts his gaze back to Imogen and gives her his best customer service smile. “Hi there. I’m guessing you are one of Steve’s cousins?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Imogen,” she offers with a bright smile. “But you can call me Immy. Are you pleased to meet me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, very much.” Tony can’t help but laugh softly. The kid has spunk, he’s got to give her that, the type of attitude that will get her far in life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah chuckles softly behind them. “Immy, do you mind leading the way to the dining room so Steve and Tony can eat their breakfast?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am!” Imogen snaps to attention, giving her aunt a brisk salute and a serious nod, before turning on her heel and towing Steve along by the arm she has yet to let go of. “Right this way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imogen, and another cousin Steve introduces as Charlotte, sit with them while they eat breakfast, though Tony is surprised that either of them manage to eat anything between Imogen sneaking bits of bacon off Steve’s plate, and the barrage of questions that she shoots at them. Tony, in particular, finds himself under fire, answering questions that range from his favourite colour to whether he has any pets—various animal species asked as separate questions. There are various questions about the baby from both girls, and Imogen pouts spectacularly when Steve refuses to tell her whether it is a boy or a girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlotte is quieter and more serious than Imogen, and between that, their similar age, and the notable differences in their features, Tony suspects that they aren’t sisters. He does remember Steve telling him that they both do have sisters though, and that there is an older male cousin somewhere in the mix too, but none of them make an appearance as they eat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s probably a good thing, Tony thinks, that other family members are scarce, as he watches Steve relax by degrees as Imogen chatters away at both of them. Sarah joins them with drinks in hand at one point, and sits with them for a while, occasionally reining in Imogen’s rampant questioning, but for most part looking like she’s just enjoying being surrounded by family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When there’s no more food to eat, and Tony’s coffee is regrettably empty, Sarah gathers their dishes and heads back into the kitchen, waving off Steve’s effort to stand up to help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sit there and relax, dear. I’m sure Tony is plenty capable of drying a few dishes,” Sarah throws the comment over her shoulder as she leaves, and Tony knows a command when he hears one, even as roundabout as it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes Steve’s shoulder gently as he passes. “If I don’t return, you can have my car.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be so dramatic,” Steve swats at him as he passes, laughter barely suppressed. Just as Tony gets to the doorway, he calls after him, “I want the garage, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, caro, already promised that to Pep,” Tony shoots back with a grin, “Though you’re welcome to fight her for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not scared of Pepper,” Steve replies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That makes one of us, dearest.” Tony flashes him one more smile before going to join Sarah at the sink, barely catching the tea towel that she throws at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t think I didn’t hear you, mister,” Sarah gives him a stern look that barely masks a smile. “Now, if I am going to have the title of mother-in-law from hell, I want to have rightly earned it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even with the concealed smile, Tony feels the admonishment for what it is, guilt already crawling in. “Sorry, ma’am.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sarah, please,” she corrects, voice a little softer. “I know you were only joking. It’s good to hear Steve laugh though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tony agrees, aware his voice is too wistful, unable to stop himself from glancing back towards the dining room, where he can just see Steve still sitting at the table, Imogen and Charlotte crowded around him. When he turns back to reach for the first of the washed dishes he catches the look that Sarah gives him, as guarded and unreadable as Steve’s expressions often are. Even with as little time as he’d spent with Sarah as he had, he could already see where a lot of Steve’s personality came from. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He deserves to be happy,” Tony offers, feeling like it’s a lame platitude, no matter how sincerely he means it. After everything Steve’s been through, everything he will go through, all Tony wants is for him to be happy, even if he isn’t involved in that happiness. It’s a sacrifice he’d gladly make. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He does,” Sarah agrees, lapsing into silence as she takes a long time to wash the next plate. When she sets it on the drying rack, she straightens to look back at Tony again, gaze scrutinising. “And you make him happy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question, so he hedges his bets and answers anyway. “I hope so. Your son and his baby mean the world to me, I just try to be worthy of them.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah’s eyes narrow a fraction, for only the briefest of moments before her face smooths and she nods, seemingly pleased with his response. “That’s really all of us can ever hope to be, as a parent. You just have to try your best, try to give them every chance in life to make it through.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a stark contrast to how his own father had thought that it leaves Tony feeling winded. Even without Steve in the room, he can feel the love Sarah has for him just radiating off her, and all he can hope is that he can be half the parent she is. “You raised a good kid, Sarah. The best.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles at him then, soft and a touch nostalgic. “We almost lost him a couple times when he was little. Did he tell you that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve hadn’t told him much about his childhood, he also felt that Steve didn’t talk about it because he knew Tony’s was less than stellar, and didn’t want to rub salt into the wounds. However, between the combination of medications he’s seen Steve take, and the gravity in the tone of Sarah’s voice, he suspects she’s referencing something more serious than losing her son in the supermarket. He shakes his head, and watches Sarah’s expression turn serious again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to lose him now, either.” It’s a pointed and thinly veiled threat, a fierce glint in Sarah’s eyes that Tony didn’t know she was capable of, that leaves him feeling like he’s teetering on the edge of being judged as not good enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows, logically, that this is the part he’s meant to play, to be the bad guy, the terrible alpha that the whole family can hate on later, when he’s out of the picture, but his emotions win out when he goes to answer. “You’re not going to lose him. I promise.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not sure exactly what he’s promising. Whether it’s to keep Steve and his parents in contact, or to keep Steve alive through the rest of his pregnancy and childbirth. He knows that promising to keep Steve alive is beyond his capabilities, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to do everything in his power to achieve it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah nods again, turning back to the dishes. Her voice is falsely jovial when she speaks again, “Just remind him to ring his ma from time to time, okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I definitely can do,” Tony replies, his tone matching Sarah’s in an attempt to lighten the mood. It feels like a lot more transpired in that conversation that the few words that were actually exchanged, and he finds himself wanting to reassure Sarah that she no longer has anything to worry about, that Steve isn’t going to disappear again, that he missed his parents and wants them to be a part of their grandchild’s life. It isn’t his reassurance to give. It isn’t up to him to tell Sarah those things, because he can’t explain that without telling her things that Steve doesn’t want to tell her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary inconspicuously deposits more dishes onto the sink, which Sarah starts to wash without a word. As the clean dishes get stacked onto the dishrack, Tony knows that he has little chance of escaping the awkward silence that has filled the kitchen. Habit has him wanting to talk to fill the dead air, but he has no idea what to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After several tensely washed dishes, Mary breaks the silence by asking Tony what he does for a living, and he lets himself be drawn into a conversation about the garage and fixing cars, and just hopes that he’s answering all the questions correctly. Wanting to win people’s approval isn’t a foreign concept to Tony, but he doesn’t think he’s ever strived to achieve it as hard as he is right then, drying dishes in the kitchen with Steve’s mother and aunt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the dishes are finally done and the kitchen tidied up, Tony feels like he might have almost made a good impression; he didn’t miss the satisfied look Mary had shot Sarah when he’d started helping her fix up the last of the salads without being asked. If there was one thing that Jarvis and Ana had instilled in him, it was that it was good manners to make oneself useful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere along the line, Tony’s distantly aware that Imogen’s excited chatter from the dining room has died down, though it still catches him off guard when he follows Sarah back into the room to find Joseph sitting with Steve. Their expressions are both serious, Steve’s eyes red and watery with unshed tears, face blotchy, and Tony can’t help the spike of worry and fear that goes through him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve?” he asks softly, stomach dropping when Steve turns to him, offering a wobbly smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, all done?” Steve deflects, stretching his smile and rubbing at his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Mary will be hunting for stuff in her kitchen for months now that I’ve put everything in the wrong place,” Tony offers, trying to ease the tension in the room, hearing Mary chuckle from the kitchen behind him. Joseph’s lips twitch in what might have been an attempt at a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s used to that,” Sarah adds lightly. “One of Pat’s favourite pastimes is rearranging other people’s cutlery drawers whenever he visits.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony quirks and eyebrow in question and Steve huffs a short, breathy laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad’s brother,” Steve explains, some of the lingering tension seeming to slip away from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He likes to think he’s funny,” Joseph adds, voice deadpan, though there’s a twist of a smirk to his lips. “Caused no end of trouble as a child.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And got away with it, because he was the baby,” Mary chips in from the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still does, but don’t let Mam hear you suggest she has favourites,” Joseph rebuffs, leaning back in his seat, giving his sister a pointed look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, hush the pair of you,” Sarah admonishes with a laugh. “The poor boy is going to think we’re a dysfunctional family and will run for the hills.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes Tony a moment to realise she’s talking about him, and he’s about to reassure her that, from what he’s seen, the family is far from dysfunctional, but before he gets the chance, another voice joins in as a man appears in the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who we scaring off with the family horror stories?” he asks with an easy grin, surveying the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man looks like the slightly shorter, balder but much friendlier version of Joseph, similar features, but a softer, rounder face, that alleviates some of the sternness that Steve’s dad carries. The easy smile falters slightly, pinching into minor confusion as his gaze rests on Tony, before he sweeps the rest of the room and sees Steve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve-o! How’s my favourite nephew?” He crosses the room in several long strides, opening his arms as though he expects Steve to jump up for a hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Uncle Patrick,” Steve replies, carefully levering himself out of the chair, standing up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick’s eyes sweep over him, face morphing from friendliness to pure joy. “Oh wow, look at you! Congratulations?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitates, brow pulling down in concern until Steve gives him a wobbly smile and a nod. Then Patrick’s face lights up again and he pulls Steve into a tight hug. “Congratulations, kiddo. Wow. Hey, Joe, I’m going to be a great-uncle!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He directs that comment over Steve’s head to his brother, grinning widely. Joseph’s face twitches in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait for your own grandchild, Paddy, hands off mine.” Joseph’s voice barely changes in inflection, though his shoulders tense and face pinches into a slight frown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go get your own great-niece or nephew, Joe, this one’s mine,” Patrick counters with a mock glare, letting go of Steve and stepping back to look at him again. “You look good, kiddo. Glowing, and all that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about you all wait for the poor babe to be born first, before you all go fighting over them?” Sarah cuts in, but she also moves closer to Steve, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and kissing his temple. “Besides, I think you’re going to have a hard time prying the babe out of Steve’s arms if he’s anything like I was when he was first born.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joseph nods in agreement, his expression softening minutely, lips twitching into a brief smile. “You barely dared to sleep, for fear he’d disappear when you couldn’t see him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony watches the scene, his throat growing tight and eyes itching threateningly, but he can’t bring himself to care if he does cry. There’s so much love in the room, for Steve and Sproglet, that the Rogers siblings hold for each other, between Joseph and Sarah, that it’s overwhelming. He hasn’t seen this sort of affection on display since Ana died, and he’s missed it fiercely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is comfort in the knowledge that when this is all over, when Steve says he doesn’t need him anymore, at least both Steve and Sproglet will be surrounded by people who love and care for them. Even as the idea of not being a part of this family is like a knife twisting in his stomach, Tony takes comfort in that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m guessing that’s your fella over there?” Patrick’s voice pulls Tony back to the moment, aware that he’s being talked about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve croaks, voice thick with emotion, not yet let out of his mother’s embrace. “Uncle Patrick, this is Tony, Tony, my Uncle Patrick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony swallows the ball of emotion lodged in his throat and offers his best smile, stepping forward, hand extended. “Pleasure to meet you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise,” Patrick shakes his hand vigorously. “What time did you get in?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last night, pretty late,” Tony replies, letting himself be drawn into small talk, though he can’t help but keep half his focus on Steve, still hyperaware of the way he’d looked when Tony had come back from the kitchen. He makes note to try and pull him aside at the first opportunity to check that everything is okay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That chance comes when Mary starts trying to shoo everyone out of the house, telling them to head out into the entertainment area out the back, and to get out of her hair unless they want to help prepare more food. Tony suspects that she’s catering enough to feed a small army, but then again, every time he looks around it seems there are more family members than before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Partick leads them outside, Tony falls into step with Steve, catching his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze as he stoops down to softly ask. “Everything okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve glances over at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly like he doesn’t understand the question, before he nods quickly, giving Tony a wobbly smile. “Dad was just checking up on me. Making sure I was happy. I got the impression that they think that we didn’t tell them about the baby because we weren’t happy about it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you?” Tony can’t help but ask. He knows that from the get-go Steve had planned to keep Sproglet, and he’d always assumed that that was because Steve wanted the baby, he hadn’t stopped to think about whether that was really the case. He feels a little guilty for how happy he’s been about it all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve glares at him reproachfully, and replies a little too loudly. “Of course I am.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony holds his hands up in surrender, realising too late that he hasn’t let go of Steve’s, which seems to ease the tension a fraction. “Just checking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nods, his face smoothing over again, and he glances down at his stomach, resting his free hand there gently. “I’m also scared, and nervous, and terrified, and all those other words, but those are all apparently perfectly acceptable emotional responses for a first-time parent.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to do a great job. Don’t you worry about that.” Letting go of Steve’s hand, Tony wraps his arm around his shoulders, squeezing him comfortingly. “Besides, I’ve got your back, if you ever need.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, which makes Steve scrunch his face up, his ears going red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They run out of time to talk then because they step out into an covered area that Tony is sure is as big as the house, with fancy blinds pulled down around the outside to keep in the warmth provided by the sun and two gas heaters. There are more people there, two men standing beside a barbeque, which is set up by the one open blind, one greying and looking to be in his forties, and the other possibly in his late teens. There is a resemblance between the two of them that is undeniably familial, though the teen also shares some of the same features that Tony is starting to suspect are strong Rogers traits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting on the outdoor lounge, set up in the sun, are an older couple, the man talking animatedly to a woman and two girls, neither of which are Immy or Charlotte, who at that moment come barrelling in from the backyard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve! Tony!” Immy shrieks again, darting over with Charlotte in tow, bouncing excitedly on arrival. “You should come see the cubby house dad built us!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe after lunch, girls,” Sarah cuts in, which is probably for the best, because Tony can see by Steve’s expression that he’d like nothing more than to slip outside undetected, if the nervous glances he keeps throwing his grandparents are anything to go by. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got to say hello to Grandma and Grandpa first, sorry Immy. But after lunch for sure,” Steve replies softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about just Tony then?” Immy asks, persistent in her goals. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony can’t help but laugh at the sunny, hopeful smile that is turned his way. He has the feeling that that smile has gotten Immy out of trouble plenty of times. “Sorry, kiddo, I have to finish meeting the family. But after that, I’d love to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imogen’s face morphs into a frown, and she folds her arms over her chest, bottom lips jutting out. She looks one second away from stamping her foot when Patrick sweeps back into the conversation, ruffling Imogen’s hair at the same time he tweaks Charlotte’s nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you show me?” he offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imogen giggles, trying to bat his hand away. “You’ve already seen it, Uncle Pat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, but you know what old people are like. We forget things all that time, and I’ve already forgotten what your cubby house looks like,” Patrick counters, giving Steve and Tony a conspiratorial wink as Imogen grabs his hand and Charlotte’s and tows them both back towards the door to the backyard. As he is dragged across the room he calls out to the other two girls in the room. “Em, Niamh, come on, time to get some fresh air.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without so much as an argument, the two girls extract themselves from the conversation with their grandparents and dart out the door in pursuit of the others. It reminds Tony a bit of how willingly he’d take the opportunities to escape from his parents’ events when he was younger. How whenever Jarvis or Ana would offer him an out that he didn’t think he’d get in trouble for, he’d take it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the quiet that follows, Tony’s distinctly aware that everyone in the room is focused on them. He can feel the tension rolling through Steve in waves, and is grateful that both Joseph and Sarah have kept close. It feels like they’ve formed a protective barrier around Steve, even though so far no one has reacted adversely to the news of the pregnancy. The more time Tony spends with Steve’s family, the more he suspects Steve’s fears were borne more out of anxiety and an overactive fear of disappointing his family, than any actual evidence. It’s understandable,  it’s easy to get caught up in imagining the worst case scenarios, and Tony firmly tells himself to save his relief until after they’ve spoken to Steve’s grandparents. Even with his parents’ support, and that of cousins and various aunts and uncles, Tony knows that Steve’s putting a lot of weight on his grandparents’ reactions and he can only hope that that conversation goes as smoothly as all the others. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joseph introduces the two at the barbeque as Peter, Mary’s husband, and their son, David. Peter seems pleasant enough, his handshake firm when he offers Tony a smile and welcomes them to his home, and seems overly nonplussed at the news of Sproglet, offering courtesy congratulations, before trying to draw Joseph and Tony into a conversation. He reminds Tony of every boring stuffy adult that he met who knew his parents, which is an unfair assessment, since Peter seems more boring in a safe and reliable sort of fashion than in a conniving and money hungry way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David on the other hand seems to be filled with contempt and animosity that goes beyond teenage angst. The way he glares at Tony is hard to miss, and Tony knows a brush off when he receives one, with David moving away from him to talk to Sarah and Steve. It gives Tony the distinct feeling that he has been judged and found significantly lacking in the brief moments since introduction. It makes his skin crawl unpleasantly, the urge to fidget rises, though Tony stamps it down, because he had half-expected the whole family to react like that, and he reminds himself that the plan is for him to be end up being the evil ex, and if someone is already set on hating him, it probably will help the rest of the family to as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Peter tries to draw him into a conversation about football, still seeming to ignore Steve, Tony is aware that the three other people in the room are approaching them. He feels Steve shift beside him nervously, grip repeatedly loosening and tightening again around Tony’s hand. Giving Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze, Tony tries to convey that he’s still there, and that he’s got Steve’s back, though he’s not sure how much of that message gets through considering how pale Steve is turning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey kiddo,” the older man greets as they approach, face stern and unreadable. The older woman beside him wears a similar expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony tightens his grip on Steve’s hand, feels his shaking intensify, and he isn’t sure if he wants to step in front of him and drag Steve back through the door behind them and not stop going until they are bundled back into the car. He just hopes that is an overreaction on his part. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s grandma isn’t nearly as tall as any of her children, but when she narrows her eyes to squint at Steve and Tony, she gives off a formidable air, that of someone who Tony had no desire to be on the bad side of. The expression she gives them is very similar to the look of disappointment that Steve has given him enough times whenever he thinks Tony is making bad life choices. Like the time he discovered that Tony refrigerator contained more o-rings and machine oil than it did food. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you been hiding from us, boy? Look at how big you are,” Grandma Rogers says, focus locking onto Steve, her tone of voice not giving anything away. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. HIATUS: Please read the notes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just a little snippet of chapter 6 to soften the blow.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys, Sap speaking, you may have noticed this isn’t quite the full chapter you were expecting after our break, and for that I truly apologise.</p>
<p>I’m afraid that we’re also going to have to give you some more bad news that we need to take a hiatus from posting for a little while. We shan’t divulge too much, but I have had to start medicating a medical issue, and it hasn’t left me in a state for writing, nor poor Red who has been looking after me while I adjust to this. Have some patience with us, and we’ll get back to you with more story as soon as we can.</p>
<p>Thanks all</p>
<p>Sap and Red</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everyone in the group seems to bristle, unease rippling through them. All except for the other woman who had followed Grandma and Grandpa Rogers over, the features she shares with Charlotte giving away who she is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom!” she admonishes, expression of exaggerated horror. “Don’t be mean, you’re going to give Steve a heart attack.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma Rogers’ eyes soften instantly, and her expression morphs into one of concern and sympathy. “Oh Steven, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she moves closer, Tony feels the urge to shield Steve, but everyone else in the group seems to be relaxing a fraction, except Steve, who stands there, too still, his jaw clenched tight, blinking too rapidly, like he is trying to stave off tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma Rogers reaches out to cup Steve’s face in her hands, her smile soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I was just teasing you. It is so good to see you, it’s been so long! How are you, dear? Keeping well? Now, now, hush, don’t cry, I’m sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve sniffles, giving his grandma a watery smile. “I’m not. I’m okay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma Rogers strokes the side of his face, giving him a look like she doesn’t quite believe him, but will humour him. “It’s so good to see you. You look well. How have you been?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s grip tightens to almost painful, as he waves his other hand, vaguely drawing attention to his whole self. “I’m pregnant.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grandma Rogers gives a soft chuckle, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “We saw that. I said that, didn’t I, Owen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did, Roisin,” Steve’s grandpa, Owen, agrees as he steps closer, reaching out to grip Steve’s shoulder. “You look good, kiddo. When’s the babe due?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three months,” Steve replies, his voice wobbling slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three months!” Grandma Rogers exclaims, though her voice retains some of the teasing tone from earlier. “And you’re only just telling us now. Why you keeping secrets, Steven, from your own grandma too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s shoulders twitch, his grip on Tony’s hand tightening further. His gaze darts to Tony, the fear clearly evident in his eyes, before he looks away again. When Steve speaks again, his voice is barely audible. “We were worried you’d be mad, because we’re not married.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Steven,” Grandma Rogers replies, voice soft, as she pulls him into a hug, “Don’t be silly, we’d never be mad at you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides, no one is getting married these days,” Owen chips in, patting Steve awkwardly on the back. “It’s enough that you’ve got your partner here with you. All we want is for you to be happy and cared for.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And are you happy?” Grandma Rogers picks up, releasing Steve from the hug, taking a step back to get a better look at him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am.” Steve nods, sniffling again, but his smile is stronger than before. As an afterthought, he tugs Tony closer, adding, “We are. This is Tony.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony resists the urge to shrink back when the focus switches to him. Owen has the same serious quality to his features as Joseph, his expression hard to read. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are awfully quiet, young man,” Owen observes, holding his hand out in introduction. “Name’s Owen, and my wife, Roisin.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Tony replies, shaking the offered hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You looking after our Steven? Taking care of him?” Owen continues, eyes sharp like he’s searching for even the slightest of falsehoods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.” Old manners and instincts kick in, and Tony feels like he’s a kid again, dressed up and forced to meet the people Howard was schmoozing with at the time. He tries to push aside that old discomfort, because this is Steve’s family, who obviously love him, and not stuffy rich people on power trips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, the manners on this one,” Roisin teases, winking at Steve as she does. “You picked a good one then?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve blushes, red spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, he ducks his head, glancing sideways at Tony. His smile is both shy and uncertain, something else layered underneath that is indecipherable, but his voice is full of conviction when he responds, “Yeah, the best.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks again for your patience and understanding.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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